“Oh yes, let them tremble,” he agrees. Better to agree and save himself
the trouble of argument until agreeing is to be had to save himself the
pains of late night fights over text.
Hades means well, though. It has been supposed if his love were a flower
it would be easy to say he were a rose, sweet smelling, velvety petals but
careful of the thorns! No, no, Hades would not say as much. But he would
call him the oleander, a small and beautiful blossom but steep it too long
and poison can be made from the stems. This Hades loved about Percival,
both the obvious beauty and the more dangerous edge he held within.
“You have no need to thank me,” he offered, slumping slightly where he sat,
long legs stretching out until his knee pressed to Percival’s.
THE DYNAMIC OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP, IT SEEMS, IS EVIDENT
in their posture. Percival appeared as though Demeter herself were in
the room, prodding and poking at him until shoulders stuck back, spine
stood tall, and knees closed together. Hades’ was... a little less high
strung. This was something Percival admired the other for -- his ability
to take a moment and relax. Percival, as it may seem, consistently had
something on his mind. As he takes another sip of his tea, he offers them
a polite smile, and a shrug of his shoulders. “I enjoy the company. The
air here otherwise is lonely, and stiff. This place is still reluctant to life
inside of it, that much is prominent. It is borderline spooky, in all real-
ness.” He finishes, sitting back against the cushions.
